There is perhaps no word in the culinary lexicon of American English that sets mouths to watering and arguing as profusely as barbecue. You probably know what it is, and what it is not. We all know that when at its best, barbecue is an apex of achievement in American gastronomy. It is the art of coaxing deep flavors from meat through the application of slow, indirect heat and wood smoke. Hickory and mesquite are the most commonly used woods, but apple, cherry, alder, maple, oak and others also find their way into the mix. There are various dry and wet seasoning techniques utilized before and during the cooking process, and an array of sauces can be had as condiment. Most aficionados of the Southern U.S. style of barbecue agree that sauce should never be applied to the meat until after the cooking is finished, and then only according to individual taste. The über-purist will maintain that if barbecue requires any sauce at all, it’s simply not that good. Suffice it to say that the variations on technique and composition are myriad, and that pride in regional barbecue styles is generally quite strong. Though none of us should need reminding that there is glee to be gotten from outdoor cooking of any sort, or that we are wealthier for the variety.

Most etymologists agree that the word barbecue comes to us from the indigenous Arawak people of the Caribbean by way of Christopher Columbus. Barabicu - which became the Spanish barbacoa – refers to a framework of wood or sticks built over a pit for cooking meat. In the Arawak tradition, the meat was typically a whole goat or pig wrapped in leaves and placed on the framework, then buried in coals to roast slowly for hours. Fittingly enough, it is the Arawaks who also gave us the hammock.

Esteemed culinarians opine that in proper American usage, barbecue is always a noun referring only to the finished dish, and never a verb. This doesn’t seem to stop Americans from saying, ‘Let’s barbecue,’ or ‘We’re going to a barbecue.’ It is perhaps best to leave the grammatical and etymological argument to scholars. We know that they are often not half so happy, nor half so wise, as us blissful dullards who prefer chewing delicious food to pedantic debate. However the word is used or misused, its utterance will almost universally indicate that a fire will be lit outdoors, and that the flesh of an animal will be cooked on or near that fire. For our purposes here, barbecue will refer to the dish, not the activities or events which produce that dish. With this set in place, we can move on to the question of regional barbecue styles…

Pancetta, if you didn’t know, is quite simply Italian bacon. Pork belly is cured with garlic, herbs and aromatic spices such as nutmeg, clove and cinnamon, then hung to dry. Often the belly is rolled and tied before drying for an attractive spiral effect when sliced, but not always. Most commercial pancetta you’ll find in the United States comes as thin slices of the rolled variety. My decidedly un-commercial pancetta (pictured above) is not rolled.

Pancetta is excellent as a foundational flavor for sauces, sauteed with vegetables for frittata (such as this one I made a while back), or simply sliced and fried for breakfast or sandwiches.

My most recent batch of country pancetta was finished yesterday. It’s officially gone, but I’ll start another batch in a day or two. If you’re in Portland and you’d like to get hold of some of my pancetta, simply contact me to inquire about becoming a client.

If I haven’t mentioned achar before in another post, I’ll take this opportunity to proclaim Achar Pachranga from Pachranga Foods as one of the best spicy oil pickles on the market. I’m especially fond of the lotus root and Indian gooseberries in their signature blend. You can put the stuff on just about anything, or merely eat it straight from a fork.

When you have beautiful fish such as these exquisite filets of Dover sole, please don’t tamper with it so much. In this case I sea-salted and peppered each filet, heated the cast iron skillet to wicked-hot and then removed it from the stove. I gently placed each filet into the pan and let them cook on the residual heat for about ten seconds on each side. Onto a plate they went, where they received enough olive oil and lemon juice to mingle with the juices of the fish and give me something to soak up with a crust of bread.

… I’d probably enjoy this simple miracle of ingredient cross-utilization on a fairly regular basis. It is, quite obviously, an uncomplicated salad of carrot julienne, cremini mushrooms and basil chiffonade with an impromptu strawberry walnut dijon vinaigrette and cracked pepper.